


lord, a storm will rise

by Venetia5



Series: my soul is full of longing for the secret of the sea [1]
Category: Tidelands (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 08:14:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17280365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venetia5/pseuds/Venetia5
Summary: He leans back, as though surveying Augie in his current position, pinned to the floor like a butterfly pinned in a glass case, and just as helpless. Augie tries to thrash, but the position is too awkward, Dylan has too much of his weight on him and he can barely move at all. Augie bucks his hips up, accidentally rubbing his crotch against Dylan’s, and he stills when he realises that the other man is hard.-For the prompt: Augie shows up uninvited to L’Attente once again, and Dylan decides to teach him just what happens to humans who don’t do what they’re told. Dylan beats Augie, and they end up having sex somehow (not sure how, up to filler).





	lord, a storm will rise

**Author's Note:**

> So I recently finished watching all of Tidelands (I finished it in a day, whoops), and honestly, the tension between these two in the first episode just seemed too good to leave alone, and then I got this prompt to write about them, and decided I just couldn't resist.
> 
> I've tagged it mildly dubcon, because Augie never explicitly says yes, thought admittedly, there isn't much conversation in this at all, and with all the fighting, it might seem slightly dubious too.

Fear and hatred were strange things. Both so entangled, so entwined, that sometimes it was hard to tell one from the other at times. Augie, certainly, can’t tell the two apart as he stares at Dylan, the light from the large stained glass behind him illuminating him, bathing the other man in an almost ethereal light. To Augie, he has never looked more like one of the sirens the Tidelanders were born from than in this moment; beautiful, and dangerous too – a deadly combination.

Augie watches as the other man stalks closer, reminding him of a predator, and he remembers that that’s what sirens are, that their prey is men, men like Augie’s father, men like Augie himself. It shouldn’t surprise him that their children are the same, deadly and beautiful and natural born predators. And, in this situation, right here and now, Augie is the prey.

He feels his pulse jump, feels the surge of adrenaline as his _fight-or-flight_ response finally kicks in, and he wonders why it hadn’t kicked in before, when he first entered the house and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, when he’d first seen Dylan appear in the hallway, so silent he’d managed to startle Augie, a difficult feat for anyone.

Augie fights the impulse to step back, to show any sign of fear or cowardice, because he knows that as soon as he shows fear, as soon as he shows Dylan that, in this moment, he’s afraid of him, that will be when Dylan strikes, like a shark scenting blood in the water. Instead, he stays where he is, feet firmly planted, meeting Dylan’s gaze straight on.

It’s a struggle though, to meet that gaze and keep his eyes fixed on the man, those blue eyes so intense, so deep, Augie feels like he’s being sucked in by a whirlpool, helpless to fight against the current that’s pulling him under. He manages to though, is proud of himself for doing so when he sees the little tic in Dylan’s jaw when Augie refuses to show fear, to avert his gaze.

“What are you doing here, McTeer?” It’s practically a snarl, and Augie flinches at it, cursing himself a moment later for showing weakness. He looks at the other man, hoping that he’d missed it. He hadn’t. Dylan is closer now, closer than before. Somehow, he’s closed the distance without Augie realising, and Augie backs up a step, trying to put some more distance between them, give himself some space to think, to plan what he’s going to do now. Dylan follows.

Augie hadn’t planned on encountering Dylan, had planned, instead, on confronting Adrielle, on demanding that she either take back some of the drugs or accept the normal price. He’d even been prepared to plead with her, something a McTeer had never done before, because he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t raise that money, not without going to Gregori Stolin, which was tantamount to committing suicide, and Augie wasn’t suicidal.

At least, he hadn’t thought he was suicidal at the time. Looking back on it though, now, only a few feet away from Dylan with Adrielle nowhere in sight and no back-up, turning up to L’Attente without an invitation was also tantamount to suicide.

“I asked you a question, McTeer.” Augie watched as Dylan crept closer, only a few feet between them now. “What are you doing here?”

Augie’s throat had closed up, panic getting the better of him, slowly shutting his body down. He wants to snap at Dylan, provoke him, show him that he isn’t afraid. But it was a lie. He’s terrified, and his body is betraying him, showing his predator the fear he so desperately wants to hide. He clears his throat once, twice, trying to find his voice.

“I’m here to talk to Adrielle.” Even to him, his voice sounds weak, warbling and ready to break at any moment, and he flushes, partly out of embarrassment, and partly out of shame, shame for being afraid of this man in front of him. If it were anyone else, anyone _human_ , Augie would already be challenging them, provoking them, showing them that he can’t be pushed around. But Dylan _isn’t_ human, and that’s the problem. He knows, rationally, that if he and Dylan fight, he’s unlikely to come out on top, not unless he’s willing to use the gun he still has tucked in the waistband of his jeans, and he isn’t. He knows that if he kills Dylan, his business with Adrielle will be over. She’ll also most likely slit his throat and gouge out his eyes, and not necessarily in that order either, so that’s another reason not to pull the gun.

Despite knowing all of this, though, despite knowing what a terrible idea any sort of confrontation with Dylan is, he can’t help but bait the man, try and get under his skin, the same way Dylan always ~~tries~~ succeeds in getting a rise out of Augie. “Unless she’s too busy fucking someone else to talk. You still her favourite whore, Dylan, or has she moved on?”

Augie expects the punch that slams into the side of his face, but he’s not quite quick enough to dodge it, still feels most of the force behind the hit. It stuns him for a moment before he rights himself, blocking the next punch Dylan swings at him and countering with his own, clipping him on the jaw.

They go on like that for a few moments, trading punches and kicks, though it’s more along the lines of Dylan trying to beat Augie senseless, and Augie defending himself as well as he possibly can, aiming for vulnerable spots like the solar plexus, and the throat when Dylan lands a particularly vicious punch to Augie’s stomach that almost ends the fight there and then. Augie knows that he can’t afford to lose this fight, but also knows that he might not actually survive if the fight carries on much longer. Dylan’s already done a lot of damage, can feel it in the way blood trickles down throat from his split lip, splattering on his collarbone and t-shirt, more blood leaking from a cut above his eyebrow and pooling at the edge of his eye, gathering on his eyelashes. He must look like he’s crying blood, he realises, and thinks of Zach Maney’s corpse, his hollow eye sockets and the blood pooled beneath those empty eyes.

Unfortunately, when he goes in for another punch, Dylan uses Augie’s own momentum to push him off balance, grabbing Augie’s arm and swinging him to the side. Augie knows, in that moment, that he’s truly fucked, that he’s bitten off more than he can chew, that he’s made the wrong decision and is going to pay for it. Dearly.

The next punch that Dylan lands on him has his head slamming into the wall and then ricocheting off it with its force, and Augie, dazed, remembers that Bill had once said something about Tidelanders and their strength. _Too fucking late now though_ , Augie thinks to himself as he tries to haul himself up, get back to his feet, because as long as he’s on his feet, he can still fight. He can hear Dylan behind him, tries to turn his head to see him, but he then his legs are kicked out from beneath him and he collapses to the floor again, his left leg temporarily (he hopes) crippled from the blow. Instead, he tries to drag himself across the floor, tries to get away from the devil looming above him.

He thinks he hears Dylan snort as he drags himself into the dining room, knowing that there’s no way to escape the house now, not with his path to the front door blocked by Dylan. But, if he’s lucky there might be a knife on the table, or a fork, something, anything, to defend himself with. He hears Dylan stalking closer behind him, feet padding on the wooden floor, hears the doors slide closed behind them with a click, and knows that it’s now or never, that this is his only chance

He grips the edge of the table and heaves himself upright, reaches out, feels his fingers brush against the fork on the table. He’s so close to the victory that he wants to laugh. Instead, he yells and thrashes when a strong hand grips his left leg and drags him backwards, his chin smashing painfully against the edge of the table as he’s hauled away from it. He fingers skim against the metal again and it feels like a taunt as it slips away from him.

He continues to thrash and fight and shout as Dylan drags him closer, as he straddles Augie, pinning him down, resting his weight in such a way that Augie can’t move his legs, they’re trapped, and panic wells up in his throat once more. He tries to hit the smug, smiling bastard instead, swinging his fist in a wide arc, willing it to land, to knock Dylan off him, or at least stun him enough that he can try and buck him off.

The swing is caught easily, so easily that Augie wonders if Dylan has to put any effort into it at all, wonders if Dylan is stronger than he let on when they first began this fight, if he could have ended this all with his first punch, if decided to drag it out instead, let Augie fight, land a few punches, give him some false hope, before deciding to end it. Dylan pins his hand to the floor, catches the other one when Augie swings again, wildly, without aim, just the desire to hurt, and pins both hands in one.

He leans back, as though surveying Augie in his current position, pinned to the floor like a butterfly pinned in a glass case, and just as helpless. Augie tries to thrash, but the position is too awkward, Dylan has too much of his weight on him and he can barely move at all. Augie bucks his hips up, accidentally rubbing his crotch against Dylan’s, and he stills when he realises that the other man is hard.

He stares up at Dylan, wonders what the hell is going on, wonders if Dylan gets turned on from fighting, because if so, Augie pities whoever he decides to sleep with. And because he’s staring at Dylan, he notices the way his pupils expand, his eyes practically black, only a thin ring of blue visible, and he sees the way Dylan’s face darkens, knows the look all to well.

Desire.

Augie’s breath begins to come in pants as he watches Dylan stare at him, still pinned helplessly to the floor. And then he can’t breathe anymore because Dylan’s lips are on his, stealing what little air was left in his lungs, and to Augie’s own surprise, he can feel himself responding to the kiss, feels his lips move against Dylan’s, feels the way the rest of his body begins to react to the man above him. He feels Dylan’s fingers run across his lower lips, bringing the blood the surface, feels his teeth teasing and biting at it, demanding entrance, and he opens his mouth. Dylan’s tongue plunders his mouth, exploring every inch, tracing over his teeth, running across his tongue and the sides of his cheeks, before he finally leans away, leaving Augie panting and desperately gulping in as much air as he can.

Dylan is staring down at him again, inscrutable as always, and the only emotion Augie can pick up from him is _lust_. Pure, animal, unadulterated lust, judging by the look in Dylan’s eyes. He shifts his hips beneath the Tidelander, and a gasp tumbles from his lips as his cock brushes against Dylan’s.

Something shifts in Dylan’s expression, and in the next moment, he’s tugging his shirt off with his free hand revealing his sculpted torso, his other hand still gripping Augie’s wrists, and then trying to shove Augie’s shirt as high as it will go, tangling it so tightly round his wrists that he can barely move his hands. Satisfied, Dylan releases Augie’s wrists, and begins to tug Augie’s jeans down, keeping his eyes trained on Augie’s face, as though watching for what his reaction to this new development will be. Augie keeps his eyes locked with Dylan’s as he lifts his hips up, and Dylan drags his jeans off completely, leaving Augie clad only his tenting boxers.

Dylan begins to unbutton his own jeans, dragging them off, leaving him completely bare, and Augie’s tongue darts out to lick at lips at the sight of him. Cal had been right, Tidelanders were beautiful. Augie can feel the damp spot beginning to form on his boxers, tries to shift his hands, to free them from his own t-shirt, but just as he begins to shift, Dylan’s weight is back on him, pressing him back down into the floor.

His fingers skim over Augie’s chest, tracing the tattoos over his chest, before scratching over his nipples, causing Augie to shudder at the sensation that flashed down his spine. He hears Dylan let out a soft laugh, and then there are lips covering his own once again, and he loses himself in the feeling of it all as Dylan continues to explore his body with his fingers as his tongue explores Augie’s mouth once more. Dylan’s fingers begin to move further down, skimming across his stomach, stopping just above his boxers, fingers teasing along the edge, only a couple of inches from where he ~~wants~~ _needs_ them to be.

He tries to protest, but it comes out as something embarrassingly close to a whine instead that Dylan simply swallows, and so Augie bucks his hips, trying to get some sort of friction, and for just a moment, Dylan’s fingers skim lower and his hips come to rest on Augie’s and Augie sighs at the slight friction it gives him. And then he can feel Dylan’s weight pressing into him, pinning him completely, trapping his legs and hips against the floor so that can’t move them, and Augie grunts in frustration.

“Fucking get on with it, will ya?” Augie says when they finally break apart for air, and he watches as a smirk breaks out across Dylan’s face. For a moment, he thinks that Dylan will refuse, will keep him pinned there, teasing him, keeping him on edge for however long he wants, and Augie wants to be alarmed by the thought, but instead, a spark of desire shoots through him at the thought.

Mercifully though, Dylan seems to become bored with this leisurely, maddening teasing, and slides Augie’s boxers off. Augie shudders as the cold air hits his cock, and shudders again when Dylan slides back down against him, their cocks rubbing together, moans at the delicious friction. He can see that even Dylan is affected.

Augie jumps when he feels a finger trace over his hole, a startled moan pushing its way past his lips at the sensation, even as their hips continue to move against the others. And then he hisses when the finger tries to breach the tight ring of muscle, dry.

“Fuck, man, I’m not a girl.” Augie tries to move away, but Dylan’s hand presses down on his chest, and he’s pinned to the floor once again. “You can’t just do this dry, you’ll fucking hurt both of us. If you actually wanna do this, we’ll need some lube.”

Dylan, of course, chooses the wrong part of the sentence to focus on. “So, you _do_ want to do this.” It’s less a question and more of a statement, and Augie thought that it was fairly obvious he wanted to do this, considering how he’d been rutting against Dylan only moments before.

“Fuck you,” is what he says instead, thrusting his hips upwards against Dylan’s, and the latter lets out something halfway between a moan and a growl, and the sound sends a thrill through Augie. Dylan palms Augie’s cock, stroking it once, twice, and Augie’s mouth falls open.

“Well then you’d better get these wet,” he says, as he thrusts his fingers past Augie’s slack lips. Augie thinks about biting him for a moment, just a moment, dismisses it as a stupid idea that will get him killed, beaten at the very least. But it must show on his face, because Dylan grabs his jaw with his free hand, fingers digging into Augie’s cheek, strong enough to bruise, which Augie thinks might be idea. And then he feels it.

Pain.

Augie knows, vaguely, about what the Tidelanders can do, about the _gifts_ they have. Bill had told him, once, when he’d been so drunk that Augie had had to pour him onto the sofa in his own house, unwilling to leave Bill alone on his boat. While he’d known that Tidelanders couldn’t drown, he’d been fairly sure they could still die of head wounds if Bill stumbled and cracked his head open on the deck.

He’d listened as Bill had rambled on and on about L’Attente and the Tidelanders and Adrielle and the old queen, and he hadn’t paid much attention to what was being said, had simply dismissed it as drunken ramblings. Until Bill had started telling him about their _gifts,_ about what they could do to men, how they could bring humans to their knees with a touch of their fingers. Augie hadn’t believed him until Bill had grabbed his arm. The pain had been excruciating back then, and he’d watched in horror as Bill had removed his hand, covered in blood, and revealed a deep red mark on Augie’s skin that looked like he’d been burned.

Compared to now, Bill’s demonstration felt like a love tap.

He’s in agony.

He wants to scream, but he couldn’t move his jaw to even form a scream, his throat constricting and closing up so that he could barely breathe. He was going to die, Dylan was going to murder him in this room, and there was nothing he could do, and no one would ever know, because he hadn’t told anyone that he was heading to L’Attente. If he was lucky, his body might turn up on the beach, his eyes gouged out, disfigured, throat slit open, the same as every man who crossed the Tidelanders ended up.

And then, as suddenly as it had started, the pain stops.

“Don’t even think about it,” Dylan hisses in his ear, completely at odds with the gentle way he caresses Augie’s cheek, and Augie feel the pain and the burn subsiding, realises that Dylan is trying to heal the damage he’s inflicted, and Augie knows it’s about as close to an apology as he’s going to get.

And Augie gets it. They’re violent men, and sometimes fucking and fighting seem too close to distinguish between. He knows that there have been times where he’s lost control, just for a moment, has hurt someone while he’s been fucking them, has been so apologetic, so sorry, so _guilty_ , afterwards, has always wanted to try and fix it.

Dylan’s fingers tap against Augie’s lips, and just for a moment, he looks hesitant, and Augie’s knows that he’s wondering if he went too far, if Augie truly doesn’t want this anymore. Augie takes the fingers into his mouth, sucking and licking and wetting them with his spit as best as he can, and he sees something like a smile playing at the edge of Dylan’s lips, gone as quickly as it appeared.

“I think I’ve got some lube in my jeans pocket,” he manages to gasp around Dylan’s fingers as their hips begin to rock together once again, and he watches Dylan digs around in the various pockets Augie’s jeans before he finally snags the small packet of lube Augie had tucked away that morning.

He slips his fingers from Augie’s mouth, a trail of saliva stretching across as Dylan’s fingers move lower, and begin to probe his entrance, one finger at first, slowly circling, before pushing past the tight ring of muscle, and Augie tries to stifle the moan that bursts from his lips. He’s been aware since this began that anyone could walk in on them, could see Dylan fucking him, and it’s equal parts arousing and terrifying.

As Augie drifts in his thoughts, he misses Dylan opening the packet of lube, trailing a second finger round his hole, only noticing when the second finger thrusts into him, and Dylan begins to scissor them, stretching him. Augie can’t stifle his moan this time, and it sounds so loud in the silence of the room that he wonders how no one has heard them yet.

Dylan swallows the rest of his moans as he continues to work, slipping in a third fingers after a moments, pumping them in and out of Augie’s willing body, and Augie writhes on the ground, overwhelmed by all the sensations, especially when Dylan brushes against _that_ spot inside him, the one that sends sparks dancing up his spine and sets off fireworks behind his eyes.

Augie’s breath is becoming to come in pants now, and he already feels like he’s on the edge and Dylan isn’t even inside him yet. “Fuck me,” he manages to pant, shifting himself further onto Dylan’s fingers, trying to tell him that he’s ready, but his mouth can barely form any words.

Thankfully, Dylan seems to get the message, and he withdraws his fingers, and Augie feels empty for the briefest of moments before Dylan’s slick cock is against his ass, pressing in, and Dylan is bearing down on him, sliding his cock as deep as he can. Augie merely grunts as Dylan’s cock fills him, trying to get used to the feeling of fullness.

The first slide of Dylan’s cock is torturous, as he starts off slow, obviously trying to let Augie get used to the feeling, but that isn’t what Augie wants. He hooks his leg round Dylan’s back and pulls him as hard as he can on his next thrust. He doesn’t want it gentle, he wants it _hard,_ he wants it _rough_ ; he wants Dylan to fuck him into the floor.

And Dylan obliges, his thrusts speeding up as he begins to pound into Augie, gripping his hips so tightly that thinks there’ll probably be bruises, especially if Dylan loses control again, brings Augie’s blood to the surface. Augie doesn’t think he’d really mind that too much.

Augie can feel the pressure inside building, knows that he’s so close to coming, and he starts to move his hips upwards, meeting Dylan’s thrusts with his own, moaning loudly whenever Dylan’s cock brushes over his prostate, bringing him that much close to the edge.

And then Dylan stops.

Augie groans, trying to shift his hips, but Dylan’s hands grip his hips, preventing him from moving, and Augie wonders for a moment what Dylan’s thinking. He’s _so close_ , knows Dylan is as well, and it doesn’t make sense for him to simply to stop like this, not when they’re both finally so close to getting off.

And then Dylan flips them over in a move that leaves Augie’s head spinning for a moment, and Augie is seated full on Dylan’s cock, somehow feeling even more full than before, his cock pressing on Augie’s prostate, and Augie feels so deliciously full, stuffed. Dylan encourages Augie to lift his hips, guiding him up before slamming him back down onto his cock, and Augie’s aware that he’s moaning like a bitch in heat now, but he can’t stop the sounds falling from him lips as he thrusts and grinds against Dylan.

It only takes a few more thrusts before Augie can feel the pressure reach breaking point, and he closes his eyes as his climax crashes over him like a wave, pulling him under for a few seconds as light explodes behind his eyelids and he spills across Dylan’s chest. He collapses forwards and Dylan catches him, pins Augie against his chest as he continues to thrust into him, and Augie begins to shiver and writhe against him from overstimulation as Dylan mercilessly drives into him, still hitting his prostate, and Augie is about to tell him to stop, that it’s all _too much_ , when Dylan’s thrusts become erratic, and he finally comes deep inside Augie.

They lie there for a moment, Augie ~~cradled~~ trapped against Dylan’s chest as they both try to slow their breathing and their racing hearts. Augie feels Dylan slip out of him, and he grimaces at the feeling of come leaking out of his ass and down his leg.

He feels fingers idly combing through his hair, and he looks up at Dylan, finds him looking down at Augie, a lazy smile on his face as he tangles Augie’s hair round his fingers before yanking on it slightly, not enough to hurt, but not gentle either. Dylan tugs Augie’s head up so that he can look at him, and Augie feels his stomach drop slightly as the smile twists into something more predatory.

“Time for to clear up your mess, McTeer.”

Augie looks at him blankly for a moment, not understanding what he means. It soon becomes clear though, when Dylan guides his head down to the mess of come still splattered across Dylan’s chest. Augie glares up at the man, only to receive a smug smirk and slight tug on his hair.

He licks up the come on Dylan’s chest, sending him a smirk of his own when Dylan begins to moan, but Dylan simply presses Augie’s face back against his chest, idly orders him to finish the job off, and Augie resists the urge to flip off before doing as he says.

He’s slightly surprised when Dylan doesn’t do anything more, simply passes Auggie his own shirt when Augie discovers that his t-shirt unwearable since being used as impromptu bondage. Augie shrugs the t-shirt on after sliding his jeans back on, sans boxers, since they, too, had been ruined. He doesn’t miss the way Dylan’s eyes skim across his chest, the shirt doing clinging to him so tightly that it’s practically like a second skin, and he thinks that he might start wearing tighter t-shirts if it gets him looks like that.

“Run along now, McTeer.” It’s a dismissal, almost like nothing had happened between them, like they hadn’t just fucked on the floor, and Augie shakes his head incredulously before heading out of the sliding doors of the room and towards the front door. Augie’s about to open it when he hears Dylan pad up behind him.

“I look forward to next time, McTeer.”

It’s so brazen, he sounds so confident in his assumption that Augie will be back again, will do this again, that Augie can’t help but snort and flip him off.

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, I intend to.”

Augie opens the door before he can do something stupid. Like go for a second round. Right now, he’s not quite sure he’d survive.

**Author's Note:**

> I hoped you enjoyed this. Comments, con-crit and kudos always welcome :)


End file.
